Our Past Deeds
by datbenik513
Summary: Sometimes, we can get away with what we've done. For the time being. Still, there's a time to pay for our past deeds.
1. Prologue

It was just about ten o'clock in the evening and the warm September day was slowly coming to an end. The small girl opened the only window, letting some fresh air into the room. Then, she pulled a chair in front of the window, climbed onto it, and just sat there, sniffing the clean air, admiring the sparkles in the starry sky.

"One of those stars is Mum," she thought to herself and several teardrops appeared in her clean grey eyes. Loudly sniffing, she wiped her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her rather worn, pink sweatshirt. She actually never knew her Mum. Her father would never answer this question, no matter how many times she asked. The only thing her father was willing to tell her was that she'd died while giving birth to her. Hell, she didn't even know her name!

A freight train pulled out of Paddington, fifty seven wagons, each loaded with a forty-feet container. The train slowly gained speed, and, as it passed by the building, shook it as if an earthquake was being formed under London. The impeccably clean glass in the window rattled, the table shook, and a glass fell off it, breaking into myriad tiny particles.

The girl shuddered and instinctively stopped her ears with her hands, so that the sounds couldn't find its way under her skin and firmly closed her eyes. She was afraid of loud noises. She would wake up in the night if a dog was barking somewhere, two-three streets away; later she would have nightmares about dogs chasing her and biting her to death.

As the train passed, the noises died, until the only ones remaining were the yelling and drunken singing, coming in from the pub on the ground floor. How many evenings, nights had she spent like this, waiting that her father would come home, they would eat dinner and after dinner he would kiss her goodnight. Normally her father's breath was laced with Firewhiskey fumes, but she didn't mind. She loved her father and as far as she could tell, he loved her as well.

Tonight, her father was unusually late, and the rumbling of her stomach was clearly giving away the fact that she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Pouring herself some water into the only remaining glass, the girl drank it, then curled up on the chair and resumed her staring out of the window. She didn't even recognize when sleep, hungry and lonely sleep consumed her.

It wasn't long before she woke, however, as the yelling and chanting from downstairs became louder. Her father still hadn't returned, but her stomach started rumbling again, so the girl decided it was time to find to eat something. Climbing off the chair, she went up to the table, opened the drawer and produced her wallet. Her own wallet! What a pride and joy was shining at her pretty face when her father gave it to her as a birthday present, three months ago, with five whole Galleons in it! It was much more money than she'd ever seen before, and it was all hers. Yet, she took good care of her money and she was glad to find two whole Galleons and a couple of Sickles and Knuts inside. Her small hand clasped around a golden coin - a whole treasure, four lollipops or eight Chocolate Frogs with the latest collector cards - and, slipping into her trainers, she left the room, carefully closing the door behind her.

The squeaking stairs led her from the fourth floor - the guest floor - to the third, where the old innkeeper, Tom lived, then to the second, passing by the apartment of the current owner and her family, and finally to the ground floor, by now completely filled with witches, wizards and other creatures, all on a different level of alcohol-inducted bliss. The senses of the small girl clearly distinguished sweat, cigar smoke, stale whisky, and also another, rather sweet, sticky, spicy smell she couldn't place and, shrugging, she decided she didn't even want to know what this smell was.

Carefully, she entered the crowd to find out if her father was there. Avoiding a small group of drunken dancers and two goblins who were just about to enter a fist fight after some heated discussions on a loan which should have been paid back a year ago, she maneuvered herself between the guests, with the ease of a snake.

There he was, her father. Sitting at a dirty table in his once expensive, tailor-made by the best London wizarding dressmaker, now stained, torn cloak, with ten empty glasses in front of him, silently listening to his tablemates' fairytales about young witches they'd conquered in their Hogwarts years, impeccably performed Wronski Feints and new charms they'd invented, was his father. Still in his thirties, once a very handsome young man with steel grey eyes, a heir of a rich Pureblood family, he was now resembling an old, broken man, his hair completely grey, the once vivid eyes bloodshot and sunken.

Tugging on his sleeve, the girl shyly called at him. "Dad? Dad, I'm hungry." There was no answer, so she tried again. "Dad, I'm hungry! Buy me something to eat, please!"

The man still didn't pay attention to her; as if in a haze, he raised an empty glass and through his tearstained eyes looked at the barman. "The same, if you would."

The barman, a well-sized young man about his age, wiped his hands off his towel and shook his head. "I think, Sir, you've had enough for tonight. Your daughter, however, could do with some food."

"Mind your own freaking business and give me my Firewhiskey!" bellowed the man and the frightened girl had to stop her ears again.

"Hannah, come here, please," Neville called her wife. The attractive young woman, with long, dirty-blond hair, put her hand on his shoulder and smiled at him.

"Take this girl upstairs and give her something to eat. Her father's determined to drink himself to death and the poor thing looks like she hasn't eaten anything this month. A bath would be also fine," the barman whispered into his wife's ears. At first, anger flashed through the woman's face as her husband pointed at the girl's father. Then, comprehension dawned in her eyes.

"This why I fell in love with you, Neville," she purred, kissing him soundly on the lips. With dancing steps, she went up to the man, and placed a glass in front of him.

"Your last shot for tonight, Mister. And it would do good to you to remember that any more yelling and I will hex your manhood onto the middle of your forehead. Are we clear?" Clearing away the empty glasses with a flick of her wand, she flashed a genuine smile at the startled girl and extended her hand. "Come on, let's eat something."

Half an hour later, a thoroughly bathed, combed and fed girl, with a huge grin on her sweet face, was tiptoeing happily down the stairs. She was holding a huge package in her hand, charmed so that she could easily carry it.

The Longbottoms Flooed some friends and very soon a healthy pile of girl clothes was assembled. Clean, crisply ironed and neatly folded, the clothes were packaged. Together with the clothes came five large sandwiches with a Preserving Charm applied on them, a few plates of chocolate and - unseen by the girl - ten golden Galleons in a purple, heart-shaped purse, made of fine silk. At first, the girl didn't want to accept anything, but Hannah explained her that they'd always wanted to have a little girl like her but she couldn't have children due to an accident. So, she reluctantly agreed, saying she'd accept the clothes if she was allowed to pay for them, and handed over her Galleon. Hannah burst out in tears - silently swearing a wizard's oath she'd hex that bastard of a father into next century - but, smiling at the girl through her tears, accepted the Galleon and gave the girl four Sickles and six Knuts change. The girl being, at most, five or six years old, didn't know what money really was worth and happily accepted the coins.

When Hannah waved good-bye to the girl, she kissed her brown curls and asked "What's your name, sweetheart? At least tell me your name!"

Happily smiling, the girl obliged. "My name is Ginevra, Mrs. Longbottom. Thank you for... you know... for everything." Completely missing the startled look on the young woman's face, she waved her goodbye and went into the crowd to see of her father was already done with his drink.

The man - no more glasses in front of him except that last one - was blankly staring into the air, completely oblivious to everybody and everything around him. Still, feeling the tugging on his sleeve, he recognised his daughter and lovingly caressed her hair for a short while. "Let's go get some sleep, sweetie," he said in a hoarse voice and, supporting himself with his hands against the table, stood up. Reaching into his pocket, he counted down six Galleons and threw the coins on the table.

Holding each other's hands, they made their way towards the stairs. Hardly had the man made two unsteady steps, however, when his body started twitching and convulsing and with a loud thump he fell unconscious on the floor, blood pouring from his mouth and nose.

"Dad! DAD!" The heart-breaking cry of the small girl caused all conversation stop. The following eruption of uncontrolled, spontaneous, pure magic shattered all windows and blew away all bottles and glasses from the tables, counters and cupboards. Then, the small girl just sat there, in the growing pool of blood of her dying father, loudly crying out her pain to the big, cold, inhuman, indifferent world.


	2. Crossing of Two Fates

All of a sudden, all became hush-hush, only the heart-breaking sobs of the small girl broke the silence. The Longbottoms reacted first, as it was expected.

Neville threw a pinch of Floo powder in the fireplace, crying out "Emergency Ward, St. Mungo's" and paced impatiently around, waiting for the Healer-on-duty to answer. At the same time, Hannah rushed to Ginevra, effortlessly lifting her tiny frame from the ground and hugging the small girl to herself. In quick succession, she drew her wand with her free hand and cast a quick Stasis charm on her father; she had no time to do any basic diagnostic spells at him, seeing the amount of blood he'd lost in such short time. The best she could do is stabilize him and let the Healers do their job.

With her next wand movement, she summoned a glass of water and made Ginevra drink some of it. She barely sensed the surprising strength the girl was clinging on to her with, but feeling her body shaking in her hands, hearing her hiccoughing broke Hannah's heart. Her own eyes flushed with tears, she just held her, whispering inconsistent words of solace into her ears. Slowly, the girl calmed down a bit, and Hannah walked her over to her father again, who, by this time, was already tended to by two Healers.

One of the Healers was performing refined Diagnostic spells on the man, who, by this time, was lying on his back on a stretcher and already had been applied a Breathing Charm, The blood on the floor had already been syphoned away, but there still were stains on his clothes and in his hair, and his face was deadly pale.

"Healer Morris, what does he look like?" Hannah inquired in a sharper than usual voice, still shaken by the events, fighting her internal turmoil.

"You most prolly saved his life, with that Stasis Charm of yours, Missus." The short, bald Healer, a frequent visitor of the pub, scratched behind his ear, then cast an approving glance at the young witch. "That was quick thinking of you. By the time we got here, he musta bled to death, the poor chap."

"At least _him_, I could save," muttered Hannah, under her breath, but Healer Morris had a good hearing.

"Pardon me, Missus, what was that?" he raised his voice, but Hannah was not in the mood to discuss that. That scene, the picture of that sixth-year Slytherin girl dying in her arms in the Great Hall, as her blood was slowly draining from the wound where her right arm had been just a few minutes ago, severed by Fenrir Greyback, was firmly burnt onto her retina and had been haunting her ever since, after so many years. Had she known the Stasis Charm then, she might have been able to save Daphne, who, together with Astoria, her sister, turned against their house mates and paid with their lives.

With an impatient gesture, she shooed away the question. "You already know what's with him, right?" she interjected.

"She his daughter?" Morris answered with a question. Seeing her nod silently, he winked. "Why don't ya just get her away from 'ere? We'll patch 'im up in a mum."

Hannah led the girl away, out of sight. Replacing her on the floor again, she knelt down before her. "Ginevra, sweetheart, you remember where my room is, right?"

"Yes, Mrs. Longbottom, I remember," she answered in a small voice, still hoarse from crying.

"Very good. Now, I won't let you sleep alone tonight, so you are going to sleep with me. I want you to go to my room and go to bed. I'll wait here until your Dad's transported to St. Mungo's and then I'll come up to you. How does it sound?" she smiled at the girl, not even expecting an answer from her.

"But... where is Mr. Longbottom going to sleep?"

Hannah emitted a nervous laugh and kissed her on the forehead. "Don't you worry about my husband. Just go upstairs, sweetie, will you?"

Nodding silently, the girl obediently turned around and made her way towards the stairs, while Hannah returned to Healer Morris.

"How bad is it? Don't hem and haw, Morris, I need to know!"

The Healer wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his robe. "'Onestly, Missus, I'd be very much surprised if he'd made it into the morning. Internal bleeding, perforated ulcer, three pints of blood lost, what we see now. We'll have to move 'm now, 'mafraid."

Hardly had he finished his words, when the wand of his colleague emitted a red spark and the man on the stretcher, still unconscious, started to seize again. The two Healers grabbed the stretcher and rushed to the fireplace. Ginevra, who by now had made it halfway to the second floor, heard the commotion and turned around, rushing downstairs again, as fast as her trembling legs were permitting. She barely managed to catch a glimpse of the Healers, disappearing with her father in the green flames.

With an ear-piercing cry, she threw herself after them, only to be stopped by Hannah the very last moment. Grabbing her with both hands, the witch looked seriously into her eyes.

"Ginevra, your Dad will be fine, but you can't go there right now. I will take you to St. Mungo's tomorrow first thing in the morning, it's a promise. Let's go to sleep now."

"No!" the young girl cried, struggling to break out of her firm grip. "You don't understand! I want to see him now!" With a final jerk, she managed to break free and ran towards the door. The startled Hannah stood there for a fracture of a second too long, then threw herself after the girl. Once in the street, however, she had to admit she'd lost her.

Ginevra ran. She didn't know where, and she didn't care. She just wanted to find her Dad, the only living soul she could ever call family. She ran, bumping into occasional passers-by. She ran, kicking over a dustbin. She ran, out of breath, until the very end of the world, as it seemed.

She ran across a street, heeding Merlin knows where. Her world suddenly went white, as the headlights, mercilessly, came closer and closer. Then, everything went blank.

If anyone, Muggle or Wizard, could get past the wards around the small, two-storey, semi-detached house, built from grey stones in one of the silent side streets adjoining Grimmauld Place, he would have seen a picture, far from what the idyllic surroundings were suggesting. In fact, the past seven years the house had frequently been a silent witness to such events, so the walls - were they humans – just would've closed their eyes and stopped their ears and waited for the storm to pass.

In the house, more precisely in the living room were a witch and a wizard, the regular participants to these events. The witch, a well-shaped young woman in her mid-twenties, with her flame red hair and freckled face couldn't have denied being an offspring of the huge Weasley clan, most notably being Ginevra Molly Weasley, the only daughter of Molly and Arthur Weasley. Quidditch fans would know her from the fact that she was the best Chaser in the League the last ten years and the biggest asset of the Hollyhead Harpies, while the average Wizarding population of England would refer to her as the "girlfriend of the Boy-who-defeated-Voldemort-and-lived-to-tell-his-tale". While she certainly had outgrown her status of "being the girlfriend of", what with being a world famous Quidditch player and having taken an active part in England's historical World Cup win last year, 139 years after the last win, in fact she still was Harry Potter's girlfriend.

This had, of course, several reasons. Harry had already asked her, and she had been wearing her engagement ring with great pride ever since her 21st birthday. However, they had to postpone their wedding several times. There was always something, driving them slowly crazy. Quidditch, Harry's Auror assignments, some of them secret or long-term, or simply ups-and-downs in their relationship; it seemed as if everybody and everything was against them.

This time, the living room was witnessing one of the regular "downs" in the young couple's life. Harry James Potter, the other participant, was silently standing in the middle of the living room. By now he had already been well trained; his previous encounters with the infamous Prewett temper of her fiancée taught him to completely ignore her and wait until the storm passes. She would be cursing him loud for a good fifteen minutes, then she would go up to sleep alone leaving Harry sleep downstairs on the sofa, and the next morning they would have mind-blowing make-up sex.

This night, however, there were no signs of Ginny ever willing to stop. And Harry couldn't even recall, even in the coming days, what had really prompted her to blow all her fuses. After all, unexpected assignments were part of his job at the Auror Department and, while they'd talked over it several times, Ginny didn't want him quit his job, to quit doing what he was really good at.

So, tonight was something different, Harry suspected that, but nevertheless was preparing to leave for the Ministry as if nothing had happened. He had no intentions of engaging into verbal battle with her; he knew he'd lose it in an instant. His silence, however, raged Ginny even more, and it was only his Seeker reflexes that saved him, as he suddenly ducked, narrowly avoiding being hit full in his face with a wine glass Ginny had sent at him. She was crying something against him, but he couldn't make out the words. With a swift movement, he captured the second wine glass as if it were a Snitch and carefully put it down on the table. Summoning his keys, he cast a sad, longing glance at Ginny, then, still without a word, he silently closed the entrance door behind him.

Once in the street, he blew out the spent air he'd been accumulating in his lungs as he leaned against a wall and closed his eyes; it seemed as if he had forgotten to breathe in the last fifteen minutes. His head was filled with an inconsistent mass of different thoughts as he was slowly replaying the scene he'd just escaped. Growling with badly disguised frustration, he walked down the lane to the spot he'd parked his car and his eyes, his emerald eyes inherited from his mother, slowly filled with huge pearls of genuine tears.

When he finally, after dropping the car key from his shaking hands, managed to open the door, he just sat there for a while, resting his head on the steering wheel. Blinking away his tears, he tried to start the engine, but it wouldn't. He tried it again, and again, and again, to no avail. Suddenly, his phone rang, and he was surprised to see Ginny's name on the display. Not feeling the inner strength to talk to her and listen to her tirade, yet again, he dismissed the call and threw the Nokia behind his shoulder, not caring where it would land.

"Merlin, please make this blasted car start!" he prayed silently, as he drew a sharp breath and tried to fire up the engine again. This time, he had more success and the V6 woke with a distinctive growl. Emitting a relieved sigh, he engaged "D" and pulled out of the parking spot. Only the screeching sound of the tyres and the revving of the engine signalled that he'd ever been there, but the noises soon diminished and there was complete silence in the deserted street again.

Speeding away from his misery, he didn't notice the small figure crossing the street in front of him until it was too late.


	3. Doctor, Doctor

St. Mungo's was the very place Harry most hated to visit. His mind had always associated it with pain, tears, loss, grief. Too often had he been forced to say his last goodbyes to family members and friends, too many of his comrades from the Magical Law Enforcement Unit had been delivered here with awful, gashing, oozing wounds or missing limbs, hit by unknown Dark curses, the majority of them never to recover afterwards.

Quite understandably, Harry was feeling uncomfortable as he pushed the entrance door open and entered the Reception Hall. His restless Auror eyes quickly scanned the interior of the hall, but his features suddenly relaxed and a huge grin formed on his face. He covered the distance from the door to the Reception desk in two giant leaps.

"Susan! Susan Bones!" he called out loudly. The healer at the Reception desk, quickly scribbling with her quill on a piece of parchment, raised her head from her work and emitted a surprised, happy yell.

"Harry! Harry! So good to see you!" With an honest smile on her face, his former school mate rose from her chair and enclosed Harry in a bone-crunching hug giving a quick peck on his face, which the surprised young man was all too eager to answer likewise. Still enjoying the warmth and curviness of the well-formed female body pressed tight against him, he was reluctant to break the hug.

"My, my, my. What a pleasant, _warm_ welcome," he grinned. "You know, you can always welcome me like this."

The girl let out a ringing laughter and carefully examined his face. "Who are you and what have you done to the shy Harry Potter I used to know once?"

"Dunno, maybe grew up?" the boy answered and, holding her away at arm's length, let his eyes linger at her ample cleavage, which even her old-fashioned Healer robe was unable to hide completely.

"Do I feel as if being checked out by the boyfriend of one of my best friends, Auror Potter?" Susan asked in a mock serious voice, but her eyes twinkled playfully. "Or... are you trying to hit on me perhaps?" She changed to a more playful tone.

"Oh no, Susan, one complete disaster was enough," flushed Harry red, but Susan took pity on him. "Come on, Harry. It wasn't a disaster. Actually, we had fun, and I enjoyed being with you. You were kind, understanding; you were very gentle and sex was wonderful," she blushed prettily. "But, we both knew we didn't love each other enough to make it into a long-term relationship. You and Ginny were on hold then, I'd been awfully hurt by my previous boyfriend and we simply found refuge in each other. What we had, back then, was precisely what we both needed. Not just a quick shag, it certainly was more than that, rather a casual relationship with no strings attached."

"Sue, I will never forget those wonderful days and nights. I'll always cherish the time we'd spent together," Harry whispered into her ears. The girl let out a small sigh and Harry could feel her warm breath against his neck."You go on flattering like this, Mr. Potter, and I might want to repeat that fun. And, if I'm not mistaken, you're also happy to see me. Or is that your wand perhaps?" she inquired innocently and Harry quickly stepped away, in embarrassment letting go of her, which elicited a loud cackle from the girl.

"Shite," thought Harry, "shite, shite, shite." Susan, however, wasn't determined to guarantee him an easy death. Poking out her tongue at him, she brushed his unruly black hair with her hand. "Well, it's nice to know you care," she teased the boy, earning a healthy tickle from him. Luckily, the Reception hall was empty at this early hour of the day – it wasn't even six a.m. - and their small intermezzo went unnoticed.

Harry took a chair and patted the one besides him, indicating Susan to sit down.

"So, how have you been, love?" he asked. Proudly smiling, the former Hufflepuff looked around the Reception hall, her empire for tonight. "I think I've made a pretty good career choice, if this is what you were asking. Otherwise, I'm single, if this is what you really wanted to hear." Muttering something inconsistent, from which Susan could only make out the word "minx", Harry shook his head. "At this point, I was referring to your career choice, Sue."

"And you want to make me believe you? No chance, love," Susan laughed. "All right, all right. Just teasing. I love it here. It makes me feel… special. Feel important, if you understand me. I'm actually saving people's lives. I don't think I could have chosen a better occupation."

Harry's answer "Certainly better than _taking_ people's lives" was already on the tip of his tongue, but he wisely decided to keep his opinion to himself. Besides, the girl had another breaking news.

"Harry, you're most certainly aware of Kingsley resigning in December, right?" The boy nodded his agreement. Feeling his questioning glance, Susan finally blurted out the news. "Well... Auntie is one of the possible candidates for the position of the Minister of Magic and Kingsley is backing her completely, so..."

"That's wonderful, Susie!" The joy in Harry's voice was absolutely honest. "She's the most appropriate person for the post, so she's got my vote, that's for sure."

"Thanks Harry," she locked her eyes with his. "Aunt Amelia will need every support she can get but she says it's not a big deal if she doesn't get elected. But it's always me, me, me. What about you? When are you two finally getting married?"

The boy turned serious and examined the pattern of the floor tiles silently for a moment.

"Sue, love, I had a car accident tonight. We had a row with Ginny and well... I had to go to work anyway but I just kind of ran away from home. Come on, you know us," he added bitterly when he saw the look on her face. "One moment we yell at each other, the next moment we shag each other senseless. I love her, I do, from the very depths of my heart, but this permanent fighting just kills me. I don't know how long we still can go on like this."

Drawing a sharp breath, he prepared himself for the worst part of his tale. "So, I just sat into my car and drove off. I was confused and pissed like hell... well, I wasn't paying attention and I hit a small girl. As far as I could diagnose her, she had only a few fractures but I put a Stasis charm on her just in case and Apparated us here. I was never good with Healing charms," he explained slowly and the pain radiating from his voice was palpable. "I was unable to fall asleep; I had to think about her the whole night. Do you think I would be able to check on her? I feel immensely guilty."

Susan nodded understandingly and patted his hand. "Let me just check last night's admissions," she offered and, summoning the necessary sheet of parchment, quickly ran through the short list of new patients.

"Here she is, at least I think it's her," she pointed at one of the records. "Girl, magical, age between five and six years, delivered by Chief Auror Harry James Potter at 11:24 pm under the Stasis charm, Auror standard. Car accident, slight concussion, four broken ribs. Name, address, parents' whereabouts unknown."

"That's what I call record keeping," laughed Harry, admiring the short and meaningful report. "You should see the mess in Ron's files... or on my desk," he scratched his head in embarrassment.

Taking his hand into hers, Susan gave it a tight squeeze. "You forget, Chief Auror Potter, that the circumstances we'd left your desk that night was not entirely your fault," she whispered into his ears in a mock husky voice.

Earnestly smiling at her, the boy put his index finger against her lips. "Who is now the one who's trying to hit on the other?" he asked innocently, enjoying the pretty flush on the girl's face which made her features even more beautiful. Susan playfully slapped him on his shoulder. "I'll get you for that, you lovely prat! Besides, I was NOT trying to hit on you, merely recalling a beautiful memory from the past, thank you very much."

The door opened with a weird screeching noise and another Mediwitch entered the Reception hall, startling the two friends. Susan stood up and, making a serious face, turned to the newcomer.

"Hi, Jen," she welcomed her colleague. "Punctual as always, are we?"

The tall blonde flushed red. "G'mornin Sue, I dinno youd company," she muttered incomprehensibly, not taking her eyes off the "company".

Susan quickly understood the reason of Jen's confusion and just laughed at her colleague's antics but Harry wasn't feeling funny. Eight blasted years went by since the Battle for Hogwarts and he was still being looked upon as if he were some kind of Superman. Willing to ease the situation for both of them, he stood up and offered his right hand to the girl.

'Harry Potter, Healer... Williams," he introduced himself in a friendly voice, checking the girl's badge on her robe. "Yes, _that_ Potter, otherwise Harry."

"Auror Potter, pleased to meet you in person," was all the girl could manage and, seeing her trembling legs, Harry could swear she was just about to faint. "Healer Bones," he turned to the other girl, "do you think I would be allowed to see the patient we were just talking about?"

Nodding her understanding, Susan checked her watch. "_Chief Auror Potter,_" she stressed the boy's correct title, eliciting a growl from Harry and a small sigh from Jen, and with an honest smile on her face continued. "My shift ends in five minutes. If you wish, I will take you to the patient myself. Now would you please wait outside in the corridor? I won't take long."

Susan was right. Seven minutes later, already in her everyday robe, her gorgeous hair pulled up in a ponytail, she appeared through the door of the Reception hall. Pulling up the young man from the plushy armchair he had occupied while waiting for her, she hooked her arm through his and the two friends took the elevator to the third floor.

Stopping in front of ward 327, Harry threw a questioning look at Susan. Understanding his hesitation, the young woman simply nodded, kissing him goodbye, and Harry finally found his courage to knock at the door before entering.

The ward had been originally designed to accommodate small patients and the interior was carefully chosen. Painted into a relaxing pistachio-green colour, the walls were decorated with wizarding pictures of animals and mythical creatures. Similar to the ceiling of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, the ceiling was enchanted as well; now deep blue, covered with countless stars and planets. There was a small table and two chairs, on the table several pluche figures were scattered. Harry was surprised to find a rather exact copy of a Welsh Green; the little dragon was spreading his wings and swishing his tail, trying to produce fire from his small mouth.

The little patient looked so fragile there, lying in her bed, and Harry silently cursed himself for his reckless driving. Not willing to disturb her potion-induced sleep – she'd been administered Skele-Gro to mend her broken ribs and Dreamless Dream against the pain – Harry pulled a chair against the windows, where the first rays of the September morning sun already found their way through the blinds and randomly pulled a book from the small bookshelf.

The book turned out to be "The Tales of Beedle the Bard", the very book that had changed Harry's life forever and provided the key to end the Wizarding War and dispose of the Dark Lord for good. There was another memory connected to this book he'd been cherishing ever since, his memories of his once best female friend, Hermione Granger. It was her who had been reading this book aloud – her own copy, received from Albus Dumbledore himself – many, many times during their hideout. It was her whose sweet voice had been associated with these tales ever since.

Almost seven years went by since they'd seen her for the last time. After having graduated from Hogwarts after the war, Harry and Hermione temporarily filled in two vacant teaching positions in their old alma mater, while Ron went to help George in their newly opened shop at Hogsmeade.

During the Yule break, on their way to London, Ron and Hermione had a huge fight and surprisingly Harry took Ron's side this time. The distressed girl, all in tears, her eyes red and puffy from crying, Apparated away straight from the train, and they hadn't seen her ever since. The Aurors had been searching for her for more than a year, to no avail.

There was stirring in the bed and Harry raised his head from the book, by now almost finished. The small girl was wide awake and curiously observed the young man with his old-fashioned spectacles and unruly, raven-black hair.

Smiling at her, Harry clapped the book close.

"Good morning, Ginevra," he greeted the girl in a soft voice. "I hope I didn't wake you up. How are you doing this morning?"

Stretching her hands and legs, the girl evaluated her state. "Not too bad, Mister. Thanks for asking. You are not a Healer, are you? You're not wearing a white robe they wear. May I ask you what you are doing here then?"

Scratching his head, Harry thought for a while. Finally, he decided that telling the truth – no matter how inconvenient it might have been – was his best option in this uncomfortable situation. Carefully picking his words, he answered.

"My name is Harry Potter, but you can call me simply Harry, if you want to. I'm not a Healer. I'm the reason you are in this hospital. It was my car hitting you last night."

The girl chewed on this information for a while, then winced. She clearly remembered running away, crossing streets, bumping into people and remembered the two white headlights and the sound of the screeching tyres as the car tried to stop, in vain.

"Are you a Muggle then, driving a car, Harry?" she finally inquired, politely, as usual.

Harry managed a small smile. "No, Ginevra, I'm a wizard. I live in the Muggle part of London with my girlfriend, however, and I do drive a car. Last night I wasn't paying attention..." he swallowed. "Look, sweetheart, I'm so terribly sorry that you'd landed here because of me. Can I do anything for you? Do you need anything? Some family member I could owl or Floo?"

Sadly shaking her head, Ginevra answered. "No, Harry. Thanks for asking, again, but I don't need anything." Hearing a five-six years old girl talk like this made Harry for some reason extremely sad. It seemed as if the girl was much older than her age, and he knew, he instinctively felt she must have had no easy life; precocious children very seldom do.

He sat on the bed and took her tiny hands into his own.

"My girlfriend's called Ginevra as well, did you know that?" he smiled at the girl. The little one's eyes lit up in awe. "Really? I have never met anyone with my name. My dad told me once..."

Suddenly remembering last night's events, she started crying, just out of the blue, burying her face into Harry's chest. Harry held her tight, providing her a safe spot where she could let her emotions flow and just waited patiently.

Looking up into his face through her tearstained eyes, Ginevra sniffed. "We rent a small room in the Leaky Cauldron, you know. Last night, Dad felt bad and he started bleeding out of his mouth and nose, then he just fell on the floor, and the inn-keeper's husband called for the Healers who Flooed him here. Do you think I can visit him?"

Casting her a reassuring look, Harry reached for his wand. "Why don't we just find it out, Ginevra?" Pressing the tip of his wand against a red circle on the wall, he called for a nurse and in no time a young witch in the standard white Healer robe entered the ward.

Greeting her in a friendly way and introducing himself – luckily this Healer stood firmly on her feet and made no fuzz from the fact that she was standing face-to-face with one of the most famous wizards on Earth – Harry enquired whether a certain Robert Donovan had been admitted last night. The Healer left the ward, but came back almost immediately with a parchment in her hand.

"Is Mr. Donovan your father, Ginevra?" she inquired, smiling at the girl.

Nodding profusely, she smiled back at her. "Yes, Ma'am, he is my Dad. Can I see him?"

The healer cast a quick glance at the girl's status, then with a few wand movements performed a couple of diagnostic spells on her, with Harry marvelling her effective wandlore, somehow reminding him of Hermione again. Strange, he thought, after years and years of silence, she would all of a sudden keep emerging in my head again.

Satisfied with the results of her diagnostics, the young Healer smiled again at the girl.

"I don't see any problems with it, you're completely healed, my dear. Let me just get a wheelchair for you, will you?" she offered.

Quickly making up his mind, Harry stood up from the girl's bed, pocketing his wand. "Do you mind if I go with her, Healer Davies? I want to apologize to Mr. Donovan," he explained, shrugging uncomfortably. He expected it to be a rather unpleasant talk, but he had to face it. Little did he know that this talk - and the ones that would follow in the coming days – would turn his world – and the world of several other people – completely upside down.

"We had all trusted our lives into your hands, Mr. Potter, on more than one occasion, and you'd never failed us," the young woman approvingly measured him with her glance. "I daresay Ginevra will be absolutely safe with you. Mr. Donovan is in ward 551."


End file.
